Twenty Twenty
by Tokio Rose
Summary: Some people say that hindsight is twenty/twenty. Well those people sure as hell didn't mention Dark Lords who rise again or the fate of the world resting in the hands of Tom Marvolo Riddle, now did they? SLASH HPLV, possible other pairings.


**A/N: **Okay, so this is my first ever _Harry Potter_ fanfiction. And to tell you the truth, all, I'm a bit scared. It's a big genre to jump feet first into, especially with slash. A lot of things have been done before, so I am hoping that this is more or less original (but hey, they say that there are only seven master plots… just kidding), and I am hoping that I am able to keep things in character and with at least a modicum of correct spelling and grammar. So… Please don't flame. That would be really nice. Flames make me discouraged, and a discouraged authoress means less fanfiction for all of you. Anyways…. I'll try my best!

**Summary:** Some people say that hindsight is twenty/twenty. Well those people sure as hell didn't mention a resurrected Dark Lord or the end of the world, now did they? SLASH

**Warnings: **This is slash. If slash offends, get thee hence. You read and flame because of slash? It'll just serve to piss me off. There is also going to be a bit of swearing, possible drug abuse, child abuse, and other dark, obviously mature material. And multiple personalities and depressions are some main issues. If you are offended at all, turn back. And what else… hmmmmm… I'll put a warning before each chapter, but yeah.

**Timeline:** Takes place after _Deathly Hallows_, but I am taking some liberty with the plot as is the case with most fanfiction writers. Think what you will. But there will be spoilers, so if you haven't read it all, then shoo unless you don't mind them. x3

**And I'm looking for a Beta. Someone who can kick me in the ass and tell me to keep going. Preferably someone who knows a bit about the English language and doesn't mind that I make up my own grammar rules occasionally. Hey, it happens. **

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_**Twenty-Twenty**_

_**By Tokio Rose**_

"_Prologue: The Boy Who Died"_

The Bellamonts were a perfectly normal pureblood family, thank you very much. They had never been involved with the whole war nonsense. They had never even been close to something related to the war, save the _Daily Prophet_ that was delivered by owl, every day, at promptly two p.m., no sooner, and no later. They were neither dark nor light, and didn't chose be either. In fact, they would probably be the last people that you would expect to be related to the wizarding war that just took place because they didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mr. Bellamont, or rather Lord Bellamont, worked for the Ministry of Magic. He was an "unspeakable," and viewed the world with large, buggy eyes that were hidden behind coke bottle glasses that probably served no other purpose than making him look even more outlandish. He stooped, and his head was topped with a thinning cap of grey that flitted about in the wind. He had a nervous habit of tampering with it. Mrs. Bellamont had twice the hair, was a striking red head who more than made up for her husbands lack of couth and carried herself with all the grace and air of a queen. They had no children of which to speak, a point that was sore and had caused many sleepless nights.

But they had enough money to keep them both alive and fed and supported in their endeavors, and while they both were past their prime, the childless void in their life had been filled by traveling about the world and learning of all sorts of magical secrets. They had every thing that they had every wanted, except a child. A wonderful little child that they could call their own.

And a secret, oh yes, they had a secret. They were not unlike the typical pureblood family in that way. They had a deep, dark secret that tainted their lives and that they only whispered about at night in their little house, not to far from Liverpool, for fear that it would come out into the light and they would become the gossip of their small cul-de-sac. You see, Mistress Adele Odette Bellamont nee Bagshot was one of the only living descendants of the line that had sired one of the darkest wizards in all of history. And _that_ in their opinion, was enough to make anyone hide.

"You-Know-Who's been slain," Her voice sounded like a small twittering bird. Not unsure, but it flitted. Big green eyes looked up at her as her husband peered through his large glasses. She flipped the page over to him so he could see, and his trembling fingers took it from her tapered ones.

"That's a bit of an understatement," Lord Bellamont stated, looking at the giant headlines that plastered across the page, revealing a picture of a gaunt, skeletal Hogwarts in the background and an obviously tired, but victorious Harry Potter.

"Do not joke about such things," Adele stated, grabbing the paper back from her husband. "You KNOW that Dark Lords don't stay dead for long. There always is another that comes to take their place. Then another. Then another." Bitterness tinged her voice as she threw the paper to the side, her bright red hair flying from her night cap. "Utter rubbish."

Lord Bellamont agreed.

Her ice blue eyes stared at him.

"Get some sleep, Herbert. You have to be up early for work in the morning," Leaning over, she placed a small kiss on his worn cheek, remaining a bit longer than necessary with a reminiscent smile on her face. "Goodnight, Mr. Bellamont."

Herbert smiled. It was crooked a bit, but it was easy to see what beautiful Adele had seen in him.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Bellamont."

And thus, the Bellamonts fell asleep, well Mr. Bellamont fell asleep, content with his wife beside of him. Mrs. Bellamont, however, tossed and turned about in their small bed, awake and wondering, and not content in the fact that another dark wizard had been slain. Because, after all, they had all seen how well that had turned out when Grindewald had been vanquished. But who cared, after all? The war had yet to affect the Bellamont family, and there was no way that it would come to affect _them_ at all…

How wrong she was.

Because outside the small house in Liverpool, a figure walked, stalked really, across the pavement, a limp figure in his arms. His handsome face had a small sneer of disgust on it as the figure's (a teen's) head rolled back against his chest and flopped about like a useless rag doll with each step they took.

"Useless half-blood," The figure stated, though it didn't come out quite the curse. It was more or less a bit of a benediction upon the black topped head. "If it wasn't for you… I would still be stuck back in that hovel." He placed tapered fingers against the forehead, feeling the cool pallor of the skin, the magic that thrummed at a steady pace beneath the handsome young lad's marble skin. "And because of that, I am going to let you live. I do so hate being in debt to people. After all, we have known each other for so long, you and I."

The man sighed, tossing his majestic head to the side. Gold, tinged with the age of silver, flipped to the side ever so slightly, showing an aristocratic face. He was very handsome, very handsome indeed. His eyes had a wild, gleeful look about them, and they peered down at the small teen like it was some sort of prize or creation that had had a hand in creating.

"You'll be safe here. Away from those _light_," he sneered at the name, full lips parting to reveal white, straight, almost sharp-looking teeth. "Wizards." He pushed the unruly locks away again. The teen turned, revealing a face that was just as handsome with a straight, perfect nose, full pouty lips, and a skin pulled over high cheekbones. Sooty lashes graced his cheeks, and if it wasn't for the panting that was coming out of his mouth, shallow and barely there, it would be impossible to tell if the teen was alive. He looked like a beautiful living corpse in the arms of some sort of deranged angel.

Stalking down the pavement of the perfectly normal muggle neighborhood that housed the perfectly normal, non-muggle pureblood family, the man in black stopped, robes billowing about him and arching in graceful lines about his form. His hazy eyes lit up at the sight of a house. Not just any house, the house of Lord and Lady Bellamont, and he grinned, manically almost.

The figure began to stir, a frown marring the teen's face.

"Shh, shhh, you're fine, you're fine," The wizard (he was a wizard if the wand fisted in his hands had anything to say about it). "Go back to sleep, yes that's right, back to sleep," and like there was some magic in his words, the teen slowly drifted back to sleep. "There you are, young blood-traitor," looking archly up at the house, he sneered. "You'll be safe here."

Almost to himself. He turned about, placing the teen who was covered in blood stained robes of black, on the stoop of the small house. There, implanted on his breast, was the Slytherin crest, almost unrecognizable behind the grime and blood of battle, which, for all his pristine skin, covered the rest of the younger male. The older wizard huffed, looking at the teen and with a flick of his wand, the black robes were replaced by new ones of a deep blue color that the teen would probably hate.

"There we go, all nice and presentable," Pushing the teen's head back, he revealed a pale neck and rested his beautiful head against the door jamb. Like some sort of sick artist, he moved the teen's limbs about so he was no longer gracelessly sprawling about the front door of the Bellamont's and so that he looked nothing more than peacefully sleeping against concrete and brick. Satisfied with his work, the wizard reached a hand up, letting out a loud and dangerous knock that probably woke the whole neighborhood, and stepped back, casting one last glance at the small teen resting on the ground.

He kneeled looking at the sleeping, less than peaceful face.

"We are even, Tom Marvolo Riddle. Even."

Then, with about as much pomp and circumstance as one could muster in the dead of night in a muggle cul-de-sac, the wizard turned, robes flicking in the non-existent wind, leaving the teen, revealed to be Tom Marvolo Riddle, to deal with the screams of Mrs. Bellamont.

And when she opened the door to reveal a small teen, no older than sixteen, sprawled against her door step, scream she did.

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There we go! Prologue done. And if you are confused and intrigued, that's good. Cookies for you if you can get who the wizard was! And cookies if you review. The more reviews, the more likely I am to get going on the story. Mwahaha.

Anyways, I ask that there are no flames. Really, no flames. That would be so nice. So very, very nice.


End file.
